


The Little Oz Drabble Tree That Could

by trillingstar



Series: Oz Drabble Trees [1]
Category: Law & Order: SVU, Oz (1997)
Genre: Character Study, Community: oz_wishing_well, Crossover, Drabble Collection, Drabble Tree, Gen, M/M, Oz Drabble Tree
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-03-26
Updated: 2008-03-26
Packaged: 2017-10-08 13:43:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 572
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/76235
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trillingstar/pseuds/trillingstar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five drabbles for Tree #3 @ <a href="http://oz-wishing-well.livejournal.com">oz_wishing_well</a>.<br/></p>
            </blockquote>





	The Little Oz Drabble Tree That Could

**Author's Note:**

> Jump phrase in bold.  
> 

  
1\. Beecher, 111 words, 3-26.  
2\. Rev. Cloutier, 108 words, 3-28.  
3\. Morales, 100 words, 3-31.  
4\. Ryan O'Reily, 109 words, 3-31.  
5\. Beecher/Stabler, 99 words, 3-31.

 

1\. Toby Beecher.

Intellectually, he knew being paroled was a crucial test, but idealized that it would also be the key. Seeing his mother outside of the grimy visitor's room, tucking Holly in at night, wiping away the shadows in Angus's eyes, rallying his courage to invite Marian to his bed. Each experience stacked in his favor, reminders of his resolution to be a better son, father, brother, mate.

Now, seeing McManus and Pete standing in front of him, identical expressions of disappointment plastered across their faces, he slumps onto the bench, shackled once more. He's returned defeated, impotent, shown to be inadequate.

He can't remember the last time **he'd felt like a man**.

 

2\. Rev. Jeremiah Cloutier.

He stopped yelling when his throat dried up and his voice turned raspy. Blood streamed down his arms; it was only when he sank to the ground that he saw the missing fingernails. Cushioned by disbelief, he still couldn't feel any pain.

They'd left the watch on his wrist, and he cradled it now, staring numbly, watching each second tick by, carrying away the oxygen.

**He was going to rot in here**. Sealed in by concrete and mortar, entombed like the deity he prayed to... there was little comfort to be found there. He knew he'd never be found, never rise again. But oh, to have that chance...

 

3\. Enrique Morales.

His sister was an angel now.

She'd always been his angel, an absolute saint, and the thought of never seeing her again – it felt as though his entrails had been scooped out, shaken around, then returned to his body cavity tangled up. He wasn't hungry; he lay unsleeping all night. His mind raced, or he couldn't conjure any thoughts at all.

Aware but immune to the violence he used, he guessed he was the most surprised when he started to think things like _peace_ and _forgiveness_. When temperance didn't **fill that** Annette-shaped **ache** in his heart, he returned to warfare.

 

4\. Ryan O'Reily.

Why do people make lists of their goals? It's just words on paper. Who's stupid enough to write **the truth**, anyway? That's like a general leaving his battle plans laying around for anyone to find. A, what d'ya call it, tactical error.

And when you can't put a line through something? Then it's just a reminder of another way you've failed, something else you can't do, what you shouldn't aspire to 'cause you're never gonna make it.

Better to hold your hand close, then throw something out one way and see what bites. Even if you only catch a little fish, it's still more than what you had before.

 

5\. Beecher/Stabler.

His eyes were always drawn to **Elliot's hand**s, the way he cradled the phone, rubbed them down the side of a glass, twirled a pen, plucked out a straw. He'd studied them so often that he could close his eyes and picture them clearly: the rough backs, smooth palms, those long dexterous fingers, each individual knuckle leading up to stubby nails and the underlying strength of his grip.

What would they feel like coasting over his skin? Toby trembled at the thought. Lightly grazing, firmly pressing... dancing, kneading... slowly stroking? What was he willing to do to find out?

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [The Little Oz Drabble Tree That Could](http://oz-wishing-well.livejournal.com/18598.html).  
> 


End file.
